by Greg Iles
Classical sculptures, some over twelve feet high, rose like marble
ghosts from pedestals in the center of each room. Ilse noticed that no
work in any of the rooms seemed modern. Nothing had the asymmetrical
distortions of Picasso, the geometric puzzles of Mondrian, or the
radically commonplace ugliness of the "sculpture" so common in Berlin
office parks. Everything was soft, romantic, inwardpulling.
Had she not been so stunned, she might have noticed that all the oh .
ets d'art-pgyptian and Greek sculpture, paintings from Holland, Belgium,
and France-had come from countries plundered behind the merciless boot
of the Wehrmacht during the 'thirties and 'forties. But she didn't
notice. She simply stared until the dazzling exhibition ended and she
found herself in the dark, wood-paneled billiards room where Pieter
Smuts and the young Englishman had finished their second game.
"Well, take your bloody winnings!" Lord Gren, snapped.
"Don't mind if I do," Smuts retorted, grinning. He pocketed the crisp
fifty-pound note that the Englishman handed over as casually as a
wrinkled fiver.
"Herr Smuts?" Ilse said. "Herr Horn wishes you to join him."
The Afrikaner's smile faded as he hurried into the hallway.
"Up for a game, Friiulein?" the Englishman asked, tilting his cue
toward Ilse.
"It's Frau," Ilse corrected coldly. "And I'd prefer to return to my
room."
As Linah turned to lead her out, Ilse got the impression that the'Bantu
woman approved of her decision not to remain. But as she followed the
housekeeper out, she felt a light touch on her arm.
"Why not stay a moment?" whispered the Englishman. "It might do
wonders for your husband's health."
Ilse froze. Without even thinking, she told Linah that she'd changed
her mind. She would play one game before she retired.
The tall Bantu eyed the Englishman warily through the door. "I watch
for Madam in the hall," she said. "You come soon."
"Soon," Ilse promised, closing the door.
"What do you know about my husband?" she asked pointedly.
"Not so fast, Fraulein." The Englishman racked the balls for another
game. "Why don't you try being friendly? Since we're the only two
civilized people in this godforsaken place."
"What do you mean?"
"What do you think I mean? Couldn't ygu tell at dinner?
They're mad as hatters, both of them! I'm almost mad myself from
listening to them. I'm also the only chance you have of getting
yourself and your husband out of here alive.
Break."
Ilse took a cue from the wall, walked to the table and opened the game
by sinking the one and the five. She didn't know what to make of the
arrogant Englishman. She suspected this was a trick to extract
information from her, yet a voice deep inside her said to try to use
this man-to try anything that might help her escape.
"How did you come to be here?" she asked. "I assume you weren't
kidnapped, like me?"
The Englishman chuckled. "Not exactly.. But I wouldn't be averse to
leaving, I can tell you that. For some years now Herr Horn and I have
been involved in a very profitable business arrangement. Until recently
it's been mostly from a distance. Alfred knew my grandfather-William
Stanton, Lord Granville-before the war. I'm afraid my character runs a
bit differently than my grandfather's, though. My primary interest is
making money. Along with certain other distractions."
"Her-r Horn is not interested in money?"
"Not for its own sake, no. He's very political. Fancies himself a
bloody Messiah, if you want to know. He and my grandfather did
something big in England during the war, though neither of them ever
told me what. Alfred has some kind of political agenda that dictates
every move he makes.
All very hush-hush. And very silly, if you ask me."
"Does he ask you?"
The Englishman tried an extravagant bank shot and muffed it.
"No," he said, "he doesn't."
"Lord Granville," Ilse mused. "Is that a real title?"
"Yes, actually. I really am a lord. My name is Robert Stanton, Lord
Granville. Call me Robert, if you like."
"What about the other man?"
"The Afrikaner? Smuts? He's a commoner. A real bastard."
Stanton chuckled. "A real common bastard, that's him. He's Horn's
chief of security. I don't like him, but I stay clear of him, you know?
He'd like to cut my throat some dark night."
"Why doesn't he?"
"Alfred protects me. Or he has up till now, at any rate.
But my protector's patience wears thin Ilse pocketed the three, nine and
fifteen before missing the seven in the side pocket.
"Very nice, Frdulein." Stanton eyed Ilse's hips. "Yes, I'm getting the
feeling that dear Alfred's use for me is rapidly coming to an end. And
I don't fancy waiting for the axe to fall."
"Exactly what business are you and Herr Horn mT' Stanton sank the twelve
with a crack. "Import-export."
"IX what?"
"Drugs. And money, of course. Lots of pretty pounds."
"Pharmaceutical drugst' Stanton laughed. "The odd lot now and then. But
we generally handle drugs in their more elementary state.
Morphine base, poppies, ether, coca paste ...
"Narcotics are the basis of Herr Horn's empire?"
"No, no. He's ninety percent legitimate now. But our little joint
venture provides him with quite a bit of untraceable cash.
That's a valuable commodity in the business world, as you probably know,
rarer and rarer these days."
"I see."
"Don't think 'legitimate' carries any great moral weight, though.
Alfred brokers chemicals to Iraq for weapons, conventional arms to the
third world, nuclear and computer technology to half a dozen maniac
governments-it makes the narcotics business look like a bloody jumble
sale."
"So what exactly do you want from me?" Ilse asked warily.
Stanton stepped close to her. "I want to know what the old man's
planning," he@ whispered. "Something big is in the works, and I think
he's, going to let you io on it. The old bird's got the idea you're
some kind of avatar of Teutonic womanhood. He's mad about you."
"No," Ilse said quickly, fighting a strong feeling that Stanton's words
were true. "You're wrong."
"Spare me, Fraulein. I can see it."
Ilse moved to leave, but Stanton barred the door. "If you find out
anything," he said, "you come see me. I can help
you.
Ilse tried to pass, but Stanton remained in front of her. "If you
don't," he warned, "neither you nor your husband will get out of this
house alive, I guarantee it."
Ilse stopped trying to pass and looked into, Stanton's eyes.
"What do you mean?"
"Nothing at all, love. But you think about it. Do you really believe
that one-eyed madman brought you all the way here just to send you
smiling back to Germany? Five thousand bloody miles?"
Ilse shook her head in denial.
"Come on, Frdulein, you're no fool." Stanton caught Ilse's shoulders
and drew her tight
against him. "I'll tell you something else for
free," he said heavily. "Alfred's got the right idea, but he's much too
old for you."
He pressed his mouth hard against hers. Ilse twisted her head away
roughly. "Let go of me! Let me go!"
Stanton groped for her breasts. Truly frightened now, Ilse caught his
arms and tried to push him away. Just as he got one hand free and
raised it to strike, someone flung open the door. Tall and menacing,
the Bantu housekeeper fixed her impenous gaze on the Englishman. "Time
for bed, Madam," she said in a dangerous voice.
"Yes-yes, thank you, Linah," Ilse stammered.
"Bloody wog," said Stanton. "You ought to keep out of where you're not
wanted. I'm going to talk to Master about YOU."
Her face unchanging, Linah pulled the door shut and led Ilse to her
bedroom.
"Thank you," Ilse said again.
Linah looked deep into her eyes. "Careful with the English, Madam," she
said in her deep voice. "He is spoilt, and does not understand 'no.'
Ilse listened hopefully as Linah shut the door, but the lock clicked
fast.
Back in the dining room, Alfr@ Horn addressed Smuts liked a general
briefing his adjutant before a battle.
"The airstrip extension?"
"One hundred feet to go, sir. They finished the southeast end at dusk.
It should set up fine by tomorrow night."
"Is the basement secure?"
"Tight as a Zulu drum."
"What about the conference room video cameras? We must have a record of
this meeting. Our fallback plan depends on it."
"All four cameras loaded and in position, sir."
"Any questions for me, Pieter?"
"What about the policeman in the basement? Lieutenant Luhr."
Horn's face hardened. "He's fine where he is until after the meeting."
"And the girl?"
"I'm quite taken with her, Pieter. I've asked her to sit in tomorrow
night as my secretary."
"What!" "
"No arguments," Horn said. "I've decided.
"But the Arabs won't stand for a woman there!"
Horn smiled. "What can they say? I am the only man who possesses the
commodity they want. They certainly can't afford to make trouble about
a secretary."
Smuts shook his head. "What about Stanton? He's getting insufferable."
"I agree," said Horn. "But you should have known his grandfather,
Pieter, a visionary. It's a good thing he's not around to see his
their."
Smuts grunted in agreement.
"Let Robert take this last delivery, Pieter. TWO million rand in gold
bullion is worth waiting for, I think. Then he's yours." @ Smuts
grinned a death's-head.
"Less than twenty-four hours now," Horn intoned. "The wheels are in
motion." He looked up. "Take me to the study, Pieter. I want to sit
by the fire."
"Should I get the chair?"
"No. I feel strongTonight I walk like a man."
"A man among men, sir," Smuts said reverently.
"Thank you, Pieter. The last of a breed, it's true."
Together the two men-one ancient, the other in his mid-forties-set out
upon the long journey to the study, where the old one would await the
dawn with bright, unsleeping eyes.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
g.'30 A.m. Horn House: The Northern Transvaal Ilse had no warning of the
horror to come. She had awakened several times during the night, but
the periods of sleep had been mercifully dreamless. When her door
opened, she expected to find the tall Bantu housekeeper waiting behind
it. Instead she saw Pieter Smuts, Horn's Afrikaner security chief
Smuts's smile did not quite reach his eyes.
"I'm here to give you the threepenny tour," he announced.
"That's not really necessary," Ilse said uneasily. "I'm sure I can find
my way around."
Smuts sighed with enough resignation to indicate he would remain in the
doorway as long as he had to. After closing the door and dressing, Ilse
allowed herself to be led out of the room and down the long corridor.
The lanky Afrikaner towered above her. Again she felt like a child
being led through a museum. Smuts delivered his information in a
monotone.
"Horn House," he said, "stands in one of the most isolated regions of
South Africa-the northeast corner of the northern Transvaal. Boer
country. The nearest town is Giyani to the west, and the nearest
landmark to the east is the Kruger National Park. Not many -roads up
here to speak of."
Point taken, Ilse thought bitterly.
"The estate itself is one of a kind, as you'll see when you get outside.
The residential compound encompasses twelve thousand square feet of
living space. We've got an indoor swimming pool, a gymnasium, an art
gallery, an astronomical observatory, and something quite unusual for a
private dwelling-a hospital. Because of Herr Horn's advanced age, he
suffers from a number of chronic conditions, but here he is able to
obtain optimum health care at all times. The medical complex is at the
end of this hall. We have a resident cardiologist on duty at all
times."
"My God," Ilse said, genuinely shocked.
"The cost of maintaining this unit out on the veld like this would
bankrupt a small town," Smuts boasted, "but for Herr Horn ... ah, here
we are."
They had come to a door with no knob; brass letters on its face read
KRANKENHAUS. SMUTS pushed open the door. "After you," he said.
The astringent smell of alcohol and disinfectant wrinkled Ilse's nose.
She found herself in a large examining room replete with all the
paraphernalia of modern medicine. Blood chemis@ machines, centrifuges,
autoclaves, and various instruments lined the shining countertops. Two
doors were set in the opposite wall. Smuts led her to the one marked
icu.
Behind it was a fully equipped intensive care facility. Cardiac monitor
screens, a defibrillator cart, a ventilator, and two cylinders of oxygen
waited beside an electric hospital bed. Ilse wondered if Horn was in
poorer health than he appeared. "Very impressive,"' she said, not
knowing what else to say.
Smuts nodded curtly and led her out, closing the door softly behind
them. The other door was marked only with a warning symbol-three
inverted yellow triangles inside a circle of black. Smuts opened the
door and stepped inside, motioning for Ilse to follow.
I-rhis is our X-ray unit," he said. "It's state of the art, but I'm
afraid our cardiologist has to do double duty as a radiographer.
He's not too happy about that, as YOu might@' The moment Ilse stepped
across the threshold, someone seized her violently from behind, pinning
her arms to her sides. Before she could scream, Smuts stuffed a
handkerchief into her mouth. The unseen attacker lifted her off her
feet, then heaved her high and dropped her heavily onto a hard surface.
An ugly, sweating black face appeared above her; powerful hands crushed
her flailing arms against the cold Formica while Smuts worked at
something she could not see. Primal terror gripped her. Even without
seeing the thick leather belts
that now bound her to the table, lase
registered and identified the sensation. Restraining straps, she
thought wildly. White light speared into her brain from above.
"Be still!" Smuts shouted. "Be still!"
Ilse drew in all the breath she could and tried to scream, but the
bunched handkerchief in her mouth choked her effort to an anguished
groan. Her throat felt near to bursting. The man panting above her was
so black he looked blue. He buckled a thick strap across Ilse's chest,
then forced her right cheek flat against the table and fastened another
strap across her head. All she could see now was a huge lead shield.
Pieter Smuts's hard, angular face floated inside a@ thick bubble window
set in its middle.
Ilse struggled to rise, but the heavy-buckled straps held her
motionless. When she tried to shift even slightly, the@ straps scoured
her flesh like sandpaper. As she lay there, chest heaving, Smuts
stepped around the lead shield. From his right hand a long cable
dropped to, the floor and snaked around the shield to the X-ray machine.
With his left hand Smuts reached up and took hold of a hammerhead-shaped
mechanism suspended above Ilse's head. The X-ray tube.
Painted a metallic orange, it hovered above Ilse like an alien being, a
deadly thing that moved silently on tracks and cables. Smuts raised the
housing to its highest position; then he returned to safety behind the
lead shield.
Two seconds later every muscle in Ilse's body constricted in terror. A
deep electrical surge, a subsonic roar shuddered through the table,
lasting three full seconds before h cease with a sharp clang.
Ilse's mouth went dry. Her from: head beaded with sweat. Just as she
realized what the sound' signaled, it came again, the heart-stopping
buzz of electricity converted into a barrage of irradiated particles and
fired through her body like invisible bullets.
lfer teeth ground furiously as she fought the leather straps. The hide
scraped her flesh raw. Again the awful sound came. Ilse heard herself
screaming, the voice tiny and shrill and meaningless inside her head.
What have I done? What do you want! Without a single word from Smuts,
she had made the mental leap from resistance to abject servitude. She
sought only to know what I was required of her, and she would comply.
Yet still the machine fired. Deeper than sound, she sensed a vibration
barely, within the realm of human perception, the vibration of